


Weird, but good

by titC



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Wings, not even the end of the world, sex happens, stop asking me for titles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 05:58:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7210739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/pseuds/titC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quiet evening, just the two of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weird, but good

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to write porn.  
> I mostly made myself crave sushi.

As she rode the elevator up to the penthouse, Chloe expected to see Lucifer waiting for her on his balcony or at his piano, a tumbler and an ashtray nearby. Even if she had finally wrapped her latest case up earlier than she'd anticipated, he'd probably have a drink ready for her, a nice wine breathing on the bar or maybe one of those sparkling wines in a champagne bucket.

She wasn't expecting to find him bare-chested (hmmm, she thought) and cross-legged on the couch, awkwardly twisted to try and reach behind the _ohmygod enormous wings_ sprouting from his back. She'd resigned herself to admit that, okay, he was maybe a bit more than just weird and delusional and might be, well, not quite human (and _that_ had taken some getting used to, and really she'd rather not dwell on it too long because it made her brain want to shut down), but wings. Wings were new. She still wasn't on board the whole Lucifer Morningstar, fallen angel, prince of darkness and ruler of hell, story he insisted on, his _god-given name_ notwithstanding.

Still, wings.

At least he wasn't boring.

When he heard her come in he raised his head, surprised and looking slightly guilty. His wings sort of flapped behind him, knocked a lamp down and almost pushed him off of the sofa. He was supernatural and ridiculously awkward, and she laughed at him.

“Chloe!” Was that panic in his voice? “Chloe, close your eyes, don't look!”

“What, afraid I'll faint or have seizures or something?” She sat in front of him on the low table.

He peered at her, his eyes narrowed. “You're not.”

“I'm not.”

“Ah. Good. Er.” He seemed to be looking for something to say, something that would not make any mention of... them.

“So,” she asked conversationally, “how long have you had wings?”

“All my life. Mostly.” He sounded embarrassed, a bit stiff maybe.

“Never seen them before.”

“Well I... I... They had been missing the last few years?”

“And now they're back.”

“...yes?”

“And it's a good thing?”

“...yes?”

She tried not to laugh at this bizarre un-Luciferness. It was as though he was just as weirded out by their (re)appearance as she was, frankly. “Okay. What were you doing when I arrived? It mostly looked like you were trying to break your spine.”

“Grooming,” he mumbled.

“Grooming,” she repeated flatly.

He was looking very intently at his hands dangling from his knees. “Removing loose feathers. Smoothing. Like brushing your hair, but...” he gestured at his back.

“Okay. Can I do it for you? Would that help?”

“You'd do that? Really?”

“Well, yeah. What, it's not standard practice on planet London or wherever?”

He smiled at her then, finally relaxing a bit. “It is, actually.”

He wiggled on the sofa to try and find a better position, but after almost hitting her in the head with a wing three times she stopped him and grabbed his forearm to drag him to his piano bench. He nearly overbalanced and sent them crashing in the coffee table when he stood up, clearly unused to the extra weight.

“That's really not very dignified, you know.”

“I am perfectly dignified, thank you very much. Perhaps a bit out of practice.”

He gingerly sat on the bench, his wing tips trailing on the floor, and she dragged a chair to sit behind him.

“Okay. So, um. Let me see...” Chloe pursed her lip in thought, then let a hand hover, then slowly land on the spot where the wings were joined to his back. She touched the skin between then, delicately; then the first feathers. She ran her fingers on, then through their soft whiteness; watching a loose feather detach itself and float gently down to the floor.

Lucifer breathed out slowly at the first touch on his wings, and she saw his shoulders gradually lower, lower until he finally bowed his head with a long, drawn-out sigh and pillowed it on his arms, crossed on the piano top.

She grew bolder, diving both hands into the fluffy mass until she reached soft, downy feathers, scratching a bit before smoothing their mass down. His breathing became faster, a bit harsher, a bit shakier too. As she worked, the wings got even more beautiful, the evening lights reflecting on the straightened white feathers. He shivered when she kissed his nape.

Unhurriedly, he unfolded from the piano, leaning back until he let his head fall on her shoulder, eyes closed and smiling; the small but true, quiet little smile she rarely saw.

“They're beautiful,” she whispered, dropped a kiss on the corner of his lips.

He opened his eyes a little and raised a hand to her cheek. “Chloe,” he only said, dark and low.

She stood up and walked around him, around a wing, letting her fingers glide over soft, quivering feathers, and sat in his lap. She squirmed a bit until he grabbed her hips and she tightened her thighs around him, feeling heat bleeding through their clothes until it warmed her everywhere. Her lips went from his mouth to the corner of his eye, down his stubbled cheek to his neck, his shoulder. His hands were working on the buttons of her shirt, until he could open it entirely and grasp her waist.

He stood up and set her on her feet, kissing her and slowly walking backwards, careful of his wings. Turning around, she leaned against the wall and rubbed against him, against his thigh; after a while he withdrew his leg from between hers and started to open her jeans, dragging them down until he was kneeling at her feet.

When she was naked from the waist down, he looked up at her with a wicked gleam in his eye. Taking one of her feet in his hands, he raised it to his shoulder and she let it drop between his wings. He kissed up her thigh, up, up until his mouth was just _there_ , and she would have fallen if his wings hadn't raised. She anchored her arms on them, clutching bone and muscle and feathers in her hands and squeezing, squeezing; his tongue was magic, it was wonderful, his lips and his hot, hot breath on her; he was pinning her hips against the wall and she was panting, moving a hand to his hair and she grasped it and pulled and pushed him exactly where she wanted him; just there, just like that, just – _oh_.

His mouth never left her, kissing the inside of her thighs, her muscles still quivering and jelly-like; up her stomach, her waist. Twisting a little to let her put her foot back on the wooden floor, he went back up her body.

He was breathing hard in her ear, and Chloe inched her hand from his shoulder to his chest, grazing a nipple and reveling in his little gasp. She started to undo his belt and he stopped her, started to drag her to his bed, bumping into the walls on the way until finally, finally they stumbled and fell on the mattress with a thump and a giggle. She went back to his belt, and he unclasped her bra; she pushed his slacks down and he threw her shirt on the floor.

Lucifer was hot and hard and wet and she loved it, loved it – loved him, too, but she couldn't tell him quite yet; he was mouthing her breasts and dragging her by the hips until she could feel his cock burning against her inner lips. She wriggled, pushed and twisted until she could feel him sliding inside; smooth, unyielding and delicate too. Gravity pushed her down, and lust pulled her up, and his hands were guiding and supporting her and her nails were digging into his shoulders and her soft sighs were urging him on, and his little breathy moans were maddening, maddening; she felt the muscles in his back bunch and clench and bunch and clench until there were feathers, feathers everywhere. A cloud, a storm of white feathers up until he muffled a cry in her skin and stopped moving and she shuddered, unable to breathe for a few long, whited-out seconds.

 

Chloe had let herself fall backwards on the bed, still breathing hard and quick. Lucifer had followed her, and she mused that he often did, these days. Pretending not to, of course. She sometimes wondered at the power she seemed to have over him, and she didn't really understand it. Him.

He was lying half over her, and much heavier than usual – which was already heavy enough. She pushed a wing away from her, feeling the long bone running along it and the mussed feathers. “I think we've just undone all my hard work,” she said.

He raised his head a little from her shoulder and looked at it, then at her. “Yes indeed.” He sounded supremely satisfied, in a winged-cat-got-the-canary kind of way.

“How will these work with your clothes?”

“Hm, well.” His breathing got very slow and regular, his hand on her hip a bit tighter. Little by little, she felt him become lighter, and after a while the wings started to sort of fade. After about a minute, he was just regular Lucifer. “This way.” He looked a bit wistful.

She ran her hand over the skin of his back. “No more scars?”

“Nope. 100% perfect once again.”

“And so very modest.”

“Truthful, Detective. Truthful.”

She shoved him off of her with a giggle, and he flailed and pretended to fall on the floor and really, she decided half an hour later while they were eating sushi on the sofa, legs entwined and wine in hand, life was good.

Weird, but good.

 

 

 


End file.
